


Path Of The Arrow

by ReveriesRamblings



Series: Path Of The Arrow [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Other, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:01:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23745721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReveriesRamblings/pseuds/ReveriesRamblings
Summary: A Lavellan and Harding love storyA fanfiction depicting a personal headcanon of my Lavellan playthrough. The Inquisitor struggles to integrate into a new life, but finds a familiar comfort in new friends and a possible new love. As he becomes the new shining face of Thedas, he learns that there is more to life than running away...
Relationships: Lace Harding/Male Lavellan
Series: Path Of The Arrow [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1710532
Kudos: 2





	1. Severed Roots

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a series I’ll be updating every Saturday or so. Of course, I do not own the rights to the Dragon Age franchise or the characters! This is purely for entertainment purposes. Some quotes/ dialogue were taken from the game.
> 
> A quick thanks to Dragon Age Wiki for a guide on elvehn cipher! FenxShiral on Tumblr for reference.
> 
> By the way, I'm fully aware that the elvehn cipher doesn't have any hard consonants, but I couldn't part with Larkin's name! It fits him too well! It'll make sense later on I swear... lol.
> 
> Elven translations:  
> Lethallen (pl) - one who is familiar; usually a friendly title given from one elf to another. Similar to kin.
> 
> Shemlen/shems - quicklings; unfavorable name for humans
> 
> Mala suledin nadas - You shall endure
> 
> Falon'Din enasal enaste - An elven prayer for the dead
> 
> Vhenan -Heart; term of endearment
> 
> Ma vhenan - my heart; my love
> 
> Ir abelas - I'm sorry
> 
> Ma melava halani - you helped me
> 
> Ir tel'him - I'm me again
> 
> Ma serannas - thank you
> 
> Enjoy!

A herd of Halla; pounding hooves against the lush earth of the Planasene Forest floor, in which he was never allowed to be in. The echo of these sacred beasts swirled around Larkin’s head as a memory, tucking the past back into a far corner in his mind. Once he was a respected hunter among his clan, providing food to ensure the survival of his Lethallen; his kin. Now, he was about to embark on a new path with a new name: The Herald of Andraste, they called him. The one who fell out of The Fade and was sent by Andraste herself to close The Breach that wounded the sky.

“What a large burden to carry, and it’s only gonna get heavier.” Varric pitied him in private when they had a moment to breathe. Privacy was a luxury now that everyone and everything demanded his attention: “Your Worship, please look over these marching orders?” this, “Herald, I need your response to the Chantry by the end of the daylight,” that. He knew nothing of politics and pleasantries and suddenly he was the face of a controversial organization as well as an entire religion that he did not want. Few perks there were so far, but one of them included the few moments he could spend in playful banter with the Dwarf gave him some sense of relief. A new world and a new life among the shemlens...not one he would have chosen for himself. The elf was perfectly content running from them in The Free Marches as it were; nothing could have prepared him for so many concentrated in one area. They smelled weird, the food was strange, but there was no denying the honest hospitality. Larkin couldn’t help but wonder though: would it be different if he weren’t their so-called martyr? Would he be exploited and shunned as all other Dalish were in human company?

“Mala suledin nadas…” he uttered under his breath as his eyes searched the aching mark on his hand, possibly for more answers. He lifted the glowing scar to the sky, replicating the moment he first closed a rift as if it would give him some profound knowledge on how to close The Breach; but alas, there were no voices in his mind.

Another chimed into his ears instead, “Master Lavellan” a familiar voice requested his attention. What else was new? The Herald had half a mind to turn toward the speaker in annoyance, but took a moment to collect himself. Of course it was Cassandra who came and interrupted his much needed quiet time. “Ahem,” she cleared her throat but made no hesitation in addressing the task at hand; he hadn’t known her for long but he could tell that this was going to become a regular occurance...he should’ve just accepted it then and there. “My apologies on the sudden...intrusion…” She wasn’t really sorry, “Your presence is needed in the council, my Lord. Leliana and Cullen have a few suggestions on how to get things moving. We need to head into the Hinterlands as soon as possible to seek out Mother Giselle and ask for her aid. _I_ have come to escort you.”

With a deep sigh, the Herald stood up from the stone fencing and turned to her with a reluctant nod “I suppose I can’t just sit this one out?”

Cassandra gave him a judgemental squint but held her tongue from expressing her true thoughts on his sarcasm. “Need I remind you of what’s at stake here?” She paused and her mood seemed to shift,“I understand that you didn’t ask for any of this, but now that you’re here...you’re our only option for the time being. I can’t promise that it will be easy, but I can promise that you won’t be alone in this…” her voice trailed at the end into a softer note as if she was trying her best to express compassion or something of the sort.

“I understand, Cassandra, and I appreciate your willingness to uphold your duty.” Silence fell between them. It wasn’t meant to sound curt, but nevertheless, the words cut and he could see that it slightly bothered her. He pursed his lips together in regret “I didn’t mean for that to--”

“Let’s just...get this over with.” The Seeker turned to leave and head toward the Chantry but stopped for a moment to turn and look at him with a small smirk, waiting for him to follow.

* * *

The briefing appeared to be simple enough: Ask for The Revered Mother’s assistance and look for opportunities to establish the Inquisition’s presence. Unbeknownst to any of them, the Hinterlands was ass-deep in chaos and it would be far from easy. The mages and templars were practically at war, putting all the refugees nearby in danger. People were starving, cold, dying and nature was being destroyed by seemingly random fires. Lowly bandits took advantage of the conditions and began to claim passages, making it harder for Inquisition soldiers to do their job. To top it all off, demons were crawling about from opened rifts; just more reasons to need a savior. Larkin surveyed the crossroads from the hilltop with dread in the pit of his stomach. The air carried a slight chill through his chestnut hair and smelled of pine, which reminded him of home. Bittersweet memories cut short by the sight of humans cutting each other down...like always. How the fuck was all of this happening so fast? He gripped his stomach and swallowed hard, stepping down from a tall rock that overlooked the plains. Varric caught a glimpse of the elf’s anxiety, offering an awkward grimace; he knew he and the Inquisitor were feeling the same sense of fuck this. If it were that easy to walk away, Varric wouldn’t be far behind him.

The Herald stepped into camp among all the hustle and bustle of recruits trying to multitask between gathering supplies and an array of other important things. All he could hear was the babbling of side conversations and metal clanking from swords and arms being forged and repaired. Larkin’s attention was pulled left and right again the minute he arrived, until Cassandra rescued him by taking his arm and pulling him aside. Varric and Solas accompanied them as well to take a breather.

“There’s something that needs your attention-” she began and was readily cut off by Varric.

“Give him a minute, Seeker...He just got here.” He threw his hands up in frustration with her too urgent attitude. “Wouldn’t it be wise to let the one person that can actually fix all this shit take a small break? You know..just so we don’t break him before it starts getting tough?”

Solas butted in with his two cents. “Ideal, not wise, Varric.”

“Thanks, Chuckles.” The dwarf shook his head

“The Herald of Andraste succumbing to a nap every once in a while? Perish the thought…” Larkin attempted to joke. At least Varric was amused.”What? Just trying to ease the tension a little. I’ll be fine…we’ll be fine.”

“Your Worship.” a soft feminine voice called to the group, singling them out from the rest of the camp. A Dwarven female approached them with a friendly and professional air about her. Her soft-looking red hair was tied up and out of her face; pale skin, but her cheeks were no stranger to the sun. Freckles decorated her face, giving her a rather youthful appearance despite the scar running down the left side of her cheek.

“Scout Harding, at your service.” She paused for a moment to give Larkin a good look-over. He was tall, but that was mostly because she was a dwarf of course. Here he was: Andraste’s chosen in the flesh; he looked even more noble than the stories portrayed him to be. The view wasn’t so bad either. If her eyes could’ve opened any wider they would.

“Pleased to meet you” he simply said, unsure of how he should address her just yet.

“Wow” she awed. “I can’t believe it’s really you. I’ve heard the stories; you should know how grateful everyone is for what you’re doing.”

A small, toothy smirk appeared on Larkin’s face “I’m starting to worry about all these stories everyone’s been hearing.”

This comment brought a chime of laughter from the scout, causing her to clear her throat once she realized that it might come across as inappropriate. “ Well, they only say you’re the last great hope of Thedas.” She grimaced. Maybe she shouldn’t have said that…

“Oh, great.” he pursed his lips.

“Aaaanyway, you already have your briefing, I should let you get to work.” She handed Larkin a scroll tied with twine “A map.” she smiled softly but with an awkward note. “Maker guide you.”

Harding wandered off to attend to other matters; a recruit already scrambling after her with questions. She left a small smile on Larkin’s face, his eyes refused to separate from her as he held the map limply in his hand. It wasn't until he felt eyes on him that he looked to his companions and then turned to make his way out of the camp. "Right," he cleared his throat "to work then." All four of them marched away from the camp, following the sounds of distant fighting.

* * *

“Falon’Din enasal enaste…” Larkin whispered slightly out of breath over the corpse of an elven mage. He was careful to keep his first language out of earshot as a subconscious reflex. However it didn’t escape Solas’s impeccable hearing; the elven prayer for the dead caused him to eye the Herald curiously and smirk snarkily. Larkin tried to ignore the eyes on him and examined the blood on his gloves and felt slightly dizzy. He must’ve lost his footing at some point because the next thing he knew, he was on the ground, facing the sky above him. He felt hands gripping him tightly; everything was spinning and then what was a clear day turned into inky darkness.

A gentle hand pressed against Larkin’s cheek and his eyes slowly opened to see a blurry but familiar figure above him. The sound of trees swaying in the breeze; birds chirping in the early morning sun. “Vhenan...” the words were clear, but the voice was obscured and almost unrecognizable, but he didn’t need to know. He could feel who the voice belonged to by the nature of his touch. Larkin’s eyes squinted as the sun’s light bore into the spectre and he placed his own hand on top of the one cupping his cheek.

“Ma Vhenan” Larkin repeated, his voice barely audible. “Ir abelas..”

“Ma melava halani...Ir tel’him...ma serannas…” The voice began to fade.

Larkin began to squirm in his fur lined bedroll, feverishly chanting elven over and over until his eyes shot open and he woke in a cold sweat. The hand he gripped in his dream was not a past lover, but belonged to a healer instead. She stared down at him, frozen in place as she did not dare to try and pry her hand free, afraid he might lose it even more. Within just a moment more she caught a grip and placed her free hand on his other cheek, smiling gently.

“Your Worship, please, rest easy. Everything’s going to be alright. You’re safe in your tent.” her Orlesian accent was thick. The Chantry sister placed a cold rag on the elf’s forehead, hushing him gently. “Sleep. I will inform your companions that you have the day off.” He didn’t pay much attention to when the sister left his tent, he was more focused in undressing as soon as possible --his clothes were drenched in sweat.

As promised, no one entered his tent for the remainder of the day, but rest would not come easily to him. He gently rolled over to his side and out of bed, standing on his bare feet in one motion. Larkin opened the flap of the tent door, letting the cool air of the night hit his face as he paused to take a deep breath. Nice and cool. He kept his pants on and wore a loose tunic to spare the camp of an accidental nude elf sighting; they weren’t that friendly yet. The corner of his eye caught the toe of one of his boots, choosing to leave those behind. His feet deserved to be free again, and it was so worth it. The moment the pads of his toes felt the grass, he let out a relieved groan, closing his eyes as he flexed his feet to caress the ground. Before anyone could see him, he took off into the nearby trees, running as fast as he could to pick up the wind and feel it against his lithe frame, only stopping when he was finally out of breath. His short frolicking led him back to the overlook where he first stopped when they arrived in the Hinterlands. Just slightly tired, he sat down and let his feet dangle over the edge of the cliff and looked up at the face of the full moon that lit up the night.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Larkin practically whipped his head around feeling slightly defensive, his shoulders tensed, but dropped again when she stepped more into the light.

“Scout Harding?” Larkin confirmed softly and released a small amount of breath.

“You sound surprised.” She smirked but then looked a little concerned as her voice wavered slightly. “What are you doing out here anyway, aren’t you supposed to be resting? Healer’s orders you know…” Harding took a seat beside him with respectable space in between them.

Her concern brought a soft grin to his face “Aren’t you supposed to be resting yourself? Thanks for the concern but I feel fine.” He noticed she was dressed casually, too.

“You got me.” she giggled awkwardly and shifted slightly in her seat. “I was hoping you’d be out here, actually. Oh Maker, that came out strange...I mean, I wasn’t stalking you or anything like that. I just...wanted to apologize for earlier.” She brought a finger up to scratch the side of her cheek.

“Oh?” The Herald’s interest was piqued. She held his attention now. “Apologize, Whatever for?”

“Oh you know,” she began “You’re only the last great hope of Thedas…” she bit her lip in regret “The last thing I wanted to do was cause you more anxiety about the situation. I know you have a lot on your plate.”

“Hm…” he hummed, looking up at the moon and stayed silent on purpose, just to tease her.

"Oh, pants!" She exclaimed in frustration "Please just accept the apology!"

"Pants?" He cocked a brow and couldn't help but laugh. "I've never heard that one before!" When calm, which wasn't for a good long moment, he sighed and ended the exhale with a small chuckle. "I accept. Though, I was never offended either. Just for the record." He smiled softly at her.

Perhaps Harding focused on his lips a little too hard. The dimples that pressed into his cheeks revealed an endearing innocence in him that was rarely found in a leader. Without a moment longer she stood up on her feet.  


"I should head back. Wouldn't want to miss my beauty sleep and all."

"You don't need it." Larkin turned to look at her, the corner of his mouth curling softly.

They exchanged tender looks under the stars for what seemed like an eternity.

"Good night, your Worship." Harding left him with a smile and vanished into the trees.

"I'll see you in my dreams." he said to himself now that she was gone. His eyes looked back at the moon, wondering if it felt as lonely as he did at night.


	2. Have Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scout Harding's faith is wavered by the doubts of her soldiers.  
> As she reflects, she discovers a small kindling of hope in her darkness...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhh! I'm sorry this chapter is two days late!  
> It's also shorter than the last, but it's here~  
> Please don't nerf me, I'm an essential worker *puts Gucci glasses on*
> 
> Enjoy!

  
A deep reminiscent sigh escaped the scout as her evergreen eyes scanned the rolling hills of the Hinterlands. She remembered how they were once lush with flawless plant-life; untouched by most men, wild and unattended to -- left for the beasts to graze.The fields were no longer full of sheep and druffalo; there were no familiar neighbors to assist with chores. She could no longer run as freely as she did in the grass as she did when she was a girl -- barely able to see over the tips of the green blades. She shut her eyes for a moment to inhale the slightly crisp air, no longer as fresh as she recalled. The smoke, the magic and the steel had tainted her homeland and it would never be the same again. The crackling remnants of arcane spells sifted through the breeze, accompanied by the heat of the fires pushed their way into camp and into the lungs of the recruits and refugees. Harding coughed into her gloved hand a few times, hoping to keep much of the impurities out, but she knew better. This land and all that it had to offer was wasted on a petty skirmish that destroyed everything in its wake. 

It was strange how one’s life could be planned so carefully, yet fate always found ways to take detours and bring her right back to where she started. Scout Harding joined the Inquisition for a chance to look beyond the hills of her home and see what Thedas could offer a young surface dwarf. In her heart, she always felt that if she could reach out far enough, somehow she could touch the horizon line: where the sun met the earth, and escape to a land unknown to her people. Deep down, she knew that dream was half-realized as she looked down and searched the map that was splayed on a makeshift bench before her. Soon she would be able to go farther than she dared to day-dream -- further than this map or Charter, her captain, could reveal. Her hands pressed into the map as light raindrops began to soak into the thin paper, thankfully not blurring any ink work she had painstakingly completed. A loud snap and boom flashed above, indicating a storm which would soon mean heavier rain. 

“I guess I’ll take that as a sign to finally take a break..” Harding tried to justify her need for rest to herself as she rolled up the map and carried it away with her. The trek back to the provisions tent was short. The sky’s clouds shrouded the usual blue into a gradient of solemn gray; the pour reaching the ground in no time just as she anticipated. Some of the recruits lit the lanterns around the camp which heated their tired bodies in their tents. Distant chatter carried through the loud pitter-patter of the rain as she approached the dining tent where most of the soldiers congregated to take a well-deserved meal. Eventually her small stature allowed her to enter within range in order to overhear conversations the soldiers were having: all about the Inquisitor of course. She managed to skirt by the group unseen, not wanting any attention considering the long day she had. Her tired hands grabbed a bowl and fished the ladle out of the pot nearby to pour herself some nice, piping hot soup -- her mouth practically watered from the scent of the creamy herb potatoes. 

As she made her way to the back of the tent to take a seat, she stopped in the shadows to listen quietly to the rumors the soldiers spun and repeated about their leader. This was almost like the old days: sitting around a fire, listening to the adventures of travellers her parents hosted on occasion. She smiled softly at how the recruits praised his name: their wondrous savior, Andraste’s chosen, the one perfectly created in the Maker’s image. The last acclimation seemed to fall on some deaf ears though; doubtful of the cause from the very beginning. Harding’s heart sank, how could someone not believe in him?Just the sight of him was incredible, along with that glowing mark... She had to remember though, that she seemed to be the only one in camp that could attest to his power being a real thing -- many of them couldn’t even put a face to the title “Inquisitor”. A few of the skeptics jeered on naturally, going as far as to say that it wasn’t possible for the Maker to send a Dalish elf. What could an elf do to save them? Most of them participated in heretical magics and served as slaves for humans. Her hand reflexively squeezed the wooden spoon so tightly that she didn’t notice how strong her grip was until it snapped in her fist. She gasped and her eyes darted up from the debris falling from her hand, making sure no one noticed her reaction. When it was clear that everyone was too focused on the campfire stories, she relaxed a bit but chose to escape the tent -- leaving her bowl behind half empty. 

With indignant arms folded across her chest, she pondered the infectious doubt and the easily waning faith of her soldiers. The fresh droplets bounced off of the leaves of pine trees overhead as she took pointless shelter beneath them, and hit the tip of her nose until she moved inward, closer to the trunks. Why was it so hard to believe in something that they’ve needed for so long, had finally come to them? Why was his race a reason to denounce the teachings of the Maker so quickly? As far as she was concerned, you don’t bite the hand that makes sure you’re fed, but why was it that so many still felt hungry? Harding sighed again and slapped her hands on both sides of her face in annoyance; somehow all of her introspections always led back to food. Was it too late to go back and finish her bowl? Looking back to the dining tent, she feared if she heard another slander she wouldn’t be able to hold herself back from giving a good verbal lashing, which wasn’t like her at all. She couldn't help but feel slightly frustrated with herself for allowing their concerns to become her own, even the slightest bit. Perhaps it was the stress of her new job; being responsible for so many lives...just like him. She could only ponder what he felt right now, and if she was feeling a fraction of what he felt day-to-day, she truly empathized. 

Harding’s eyes cast up to the moon, thinking about that night they sat together. It had been several weeks ago, possibly two months at most with small unsatisfying meetings scattered here and there. It was the first time in a while that she’d been able to have a casual conversation...even if the end seemed rather...more than casual. Was it even a conversation at all? His words echoed in her mind, “ You don’t need it. “ She didn’t need her beauty sleep? Tch..Oh, please...a sickly sweet compliment. She was confident in her looks enough, but she didn’t want bags under her eyes that could scare the damned Darkspawn back into their depths, either. The thought of his goofy...perfectly dimpled grin caused a soft smile to appear on her face, going unnoticed until a recruit pointed it out to her. “Ms. Harding?” she said, looking at her boss a little sideways, a smile appearing on her own lips, “Is this a bad time?”

A cold shiver ran through Scout Harding’s spine the second she heard another voice in her presence. A recruit had come to check on her, holding a scroll close to her chest as if someone would try to snatch it. Obviously the message was of some importance if she needed to interrupt Harding close to the camp’s bedtime.

“Y-yes?” Harding cleared her throat in an effort to disguise a pleasant but secret moment between her and her thoughts. “Report, soldier.”  
The woman did as she was told and carefully closed the distance between them, handing Scout Harding the scroll. “It’s a report ma’am” her thick Ferelden accent carried through the sounds of nature, “The Inquisitor has sided with the Mages...he has successfully captured Castle Redcliffe!” she exclaimed. 

Harding’s eyes went wide as they scanned over the report; her ears simultaneously listening to her recruit’s excitable message. “Maker…”she let out a breath “That’s no small task…” she continued to read and suddenly stopped when she caught the tail end of something strange. “He...went back in time?” All she could do in that moment was stand there and try to process everything that was written. Still, the smile had returned and she was no longer shy in wearing it. Again, the Inquisitor had done the impossible. He continued to revive hope in the ones that acknowledged and needed him, especially her. 

“Even more impressive, If I do say so myself.” harped the recruit and took the scroll back readily when Harding handed it to her. 

Harding looked up at the human soldier with an expectant gaze “Can I ask you something, Lydia?” she played with the uncomfortable stitching in her gloves. 

Lydia nodded dutifully “Anything, Ma’am.” she folded her hands behind her back, scroll still in her hand’s secure grip.

Harding was hesitant to ask at first, but figured it would be no harm done. Deep down she knew Lydia thought the best of her; she was one of her most loyal recruits and had been with her for a while now. “I couldn’t help but overhear some of the recruits talk so lowly about the Inquisitor. They were saying that there was no way the Maker or Andraste herself could send an elf to save Thedas. What do you think of him?”

Lydia’s face reflected slight surprise, but had a hint of confidence as if she already knew her answer. A pleasant and assuring smile formed on her lips “To be quite honest Ma’am, I thought he was too good to be true, myself at first.”

Harding's lips pursed tightly but then released as she spoke “Why’s that?” she asked simply.

The recruit paused for a moment to examine Harding’s face and then looked up at the sky. The falling rain had begun to slow, leaving only a few drops running down Lydia’s cheeks. The clouds were clearing, and it was like the sky had reset itself. “Call it blind faith...but that’s just exactly what it is, isn’t it? Blind faith…” she paused and then looked down at Harding once again “Sometimes, there aren’t any answers right when we need them -- no proof. We end up praying for days, but our crops still die. We work hard to protect our villages, but dragons still set fires to our roofs. _We’re almost stubborn in the belief that things are meant to end badly_. Despite all of that, something happens and changes our lives for the better.” She took a small breath “ I think this is one of those times...and I choose to believe now, even if it is blindly.”

Harding stared up at Lydia, speechless for the moment but inspired. 

Lydia’s smile grew “Even if he is an elf, I say, why the hell not?” she joked. 

Scout Harding couldn’t help but smile at that and breathed a sigh of relief “I’m...glad you think so.”

Lydia bowed her head, indicating that she did not want to take up any more of her superior’s time and left swiftly, fading into the light of the lanterns that lit the pathway back to the tents.

Almost in an instant, her trust in the Inquisitor had been shaken so easily by the uncertainties of others. She began to question his abilities, despite everything she had seen thus far. Just as quickly, it was restored with a few inspiring words. She pondered Lydia’s words as she hiked back to her own tent and prepared herself for bed. As she laid in her bedroll, she clutched the covers to her chest, her heart racing at the thought of him losing his way just because she didn't trust in him. She promised herself that she wouldn’t doubt again, even if things began to look ugly. Even if the skies turned permanently black, she knew he’d be the Maker’s light; raising his cursed hand to illuminate the path to peace and restore Thedas’s long-lost beauty once and for all.


End file.
